Under Control
by I'mtheAlphahearmeRoar
Summary: Stiles isn't into BDSM, not usually, but today's been a full 8 hour day of pure, fresh hell involving stressful clients and bitchy secretaries. Really, all he needs is at least a good few hours tops of not being in control.


_**This is a BDSM fic, and it includes Bondage and Orgasm Delay/Denial. If this is not your piece of cake, turn back now.**_

* * *

Stiles isn't into BDSM, not usually, but today's been a full 8 hour day of pure, fresh hell involving stressful clients and bitchy secretaries. Really, all he needs is at least a good few hours _tops_ of not being in control. Hence, the equation he's been stewing over incessantly ever since that one client had demanded he see her without an appointment and he'd had to move _another _appointment forward an extra 3 hours because she'd got right up in his face about it and would not take _no_ for an answer.

The equation: Derek + BDSM + Stiles = A Perfectly Balanced Day.

Full capitals yeah, so what. Don't judge. (Being the Head Manager of a Business Firm gets you subjected to using capitals in no time. And sometimes, eventually, you start to put them everywhere without even realizing it. Yeah. It's a thing… Totally a thing.)

Anyway, he makes a quick house call to Derek, balancing the phone between his ear and shoulder while typing out a letter to one of their Advertising companies.

The phone call kinda goes a lot like this:

_"Need you to be in control tonight. Full-on control. Like, tie me up and everything. We have some kinky stuff for that, totally. Y'know, the things we keep in that trunk in the closet. Yeah. That stuff. Uh-huh. Bad day at work. Yep, her again. I know right? Thinkin' of firing her, actually. Save me the stress, if you know what I mean. Yup, yes, I know. I know. Stress is good, sometimes it can be… managed. Heh. Mhm, oh yeah, we all know what kind of "management" I'm talking about here."_

Yeah, yeah, as conversations go this one is a little… Well, let's just say he's glad he's the Manager and not a worker. Y'know, certain Work Ethics and all that.

(Erica had called up her boyfriend, Boyd, last week using the office's call system and had tried to engage in a very explicit variety of phone sex—that was until the whole third cubicle had cracked up laughing because she'd forgotten to turn her phone line off. It had been Embarrassment Central for her that day. Stiles hadn't fired her because _hello_, it's Erica, but he'd had to remind her that a workplace was for work, not play.)

So, where was he? Oh, yeah. BDSM and Derek. Yeah. Well, after the phone call (and writing and sending off that letter) he packs up his equipment and puts them into his brief case, heading out of his office and locking the door. When he gets to the bottom floor Lydia on the front desk smiles and wishes him a good night. He nods to her and wishes the same back (might tell her to head home early too, Allison can fill in for the rest of her shift) before making his way out of the building and to the underground car park.

As he's driving his Jeep home, his mind wanders.

_What will Derek be doing when I get back?_

His boyfriend of nine years is just—just something words cannot say.

When they'd met in high school Derek had been the Captain of the Basketball team and one of the most popular senior students walking the halls. They'd not known each other, Stiles only seeing him around the school regularly (popular kid, and all), but that had changed one day when Stiles' Jeep had broken down near the woods.

(Derek had totally appeared out of nowhere really, scared the living shit out of him but apologized with a smirk and sidelong glance at his flat tire.)

From that day onward they'd started running into each other more often, began making study sessions and hang outs. They'd slowly grown closer and closer and, eventually (after a nice dinner date at the local restaurant, curly fries and chocolate milkshakes included), they'd started a relationship. The year 12 prom Derek had asked him to be his date and, honestly, he'd said _hells yes_. That night had been their first time—also when Derek had revealed his secret. That he was a werewolf. That his whole _family_ were werewolves. Stiles had taken it well, actually. At the time he'd thought it was awesome and, well… Yeah, it's _still_ awesome.

Now, well, back to the present. And seriously, what a present. The wait is _killing_ him. Every red light along the way is cursed at profoundly.

Finally, when he arrives home, it's to the light on upstairs. He smiles to himself, hopping out of the Jeep with a big, enthusiastic leap, brief case swinging in his grasp. Because that's totally the light in their bedroom. Derek's up there getting everything ready, no doubt.

He enters the house quietly, toeing his shoes and socks off at the door, hanging his jacket onto the hook on the wall. He surveys the living room, breathes in deeply and closes his eyes as the smell of _home _eases the tension in his muscles and bones from a long and weary day. He takes the steps one at a time (not two at a time like he usually does, it's too loud), listens closely and hears the sound of someone moving around in the bedroom.

When he makes it up the stairs, creeps down the hallway, silently opens the bedroom door and slips in, it's to find the zip ties already tied to three corners of the bed, all nicely waiting for him. Derek's kneeling by the end of the bed, fully naked (that _ass_, oh god) and is fastening up the last zip tie to the bed post.

"I am _really _appreciating the view here, please never get up," he moans, signalling his presence and startling Derek to turn around. Derek grins, wolfish as expected, making the last knot of the zip tie to the bed before standing up, wriggling his ass deliberately.

"Is that so?" he smirks, eyes glowing blue then flickering back to hazel in a flash. Stiles watches Derek's every step as the werewolf saunters over to him. It's like Predator v.s Prey, but more Erotic Porn than Survival in the Wild.

"So so, Derek. So very so so," he giggles, because un-manly giggling is his thing. Along with the capitals. He has _two _things that make him who he is. Wait, no, maybe mo—

—And that's Derek kissing him.

Derek's mouth is one of those sins that Stiles can't get enough of and probably never will for as long as he lives. From the way it knows how to lave over his nipples just right, teasing with little nips of teeth and twirls of tongue, to how it can swallow his cock, bob right down until he's fully enclosed in the amazing wet heat that always sends him over the edge. Stiles could wax freakin' _poetry _about that mouth, he swears.

But right now it's pressed up against his own, tongue sneaking its way past the seam of his lips, wriggling its way inside and stroking over the front row of his teeth, patently with the desire to arouse. And yes, yes _yes _it's working.

"Derek, bed, c'mon," he says against his boyfriend's lips, gliding his hands down Derek's back to squeeze his ass cheeks. Derek makes a low, cut-throat noise in his throat and pushes him down onto the bed.

"Take your clothes off," he growls, more animal-like than human. It's a turn-on. Oh holy _fuck_ is it a turn on. Stiles quickly shimmies out of his pants and boxers, practically ripping his white collared work shirt off his body, chucking it, along with his pants and boxers, over the side of the bed.

"Better?" he teases, stretching out languidly like a cat getting comfy on its favourite sofa. Derek's eyes go dark, pupils consuming the jaded emerald until there's barely any left, just a pool of black.

"Gonna tie you up," is what Derek chooses to say, voice still pitched rough and low. Stiles thinks it's all part of the BDSM thing. Derek probably wants to get "into character" as the Dom. Hmm, yeah. This is gonna be _awwwesome_.

"Mhm, you should do that. You should _really _do that," he smirks, winking.

Derek wastes no time at all in getting him tied up, arms and legs spread wide in a starfish shape. The stretch of his ligaments sends a twinge of strain shooting through his muscles, but it's a _good _kind of strain, one that burns along with the arousal in the pit of his stomach.

"You said you wanted me to be in control, so that's what I'm going to do. Control you. Control your _everything_," Derek says, soft but with an edge. A dark edge, like the way he sounds when he's about to "rip someone's throat out".

(Yeah. That line gets thrown out there on the daily, believe it or not. Derek's co-workers—ah ha just kidding, only Jackson, the douche of a douche—can really get on his bad side. Stiles knows, has actually witnessed many of their clashes. Jackson has always lost. Typically. His boyfriend is the _Alpha_… just not in werewolf Beta/Omega/Alpha terms. Too bad. The red eyes would look _so _hot on him.)

"What are you gonna do?" he asks shakily, getting "into character" himself. It's no good when the entire party doesn't commit, and _dammit_ that's totally one of his Work Ethics that he's brought into the bedroom… again.

Derek though, apparently likes how he's coming off as the Sub. He licks his lips, mouth twitching up at the corners like he's about to reveal a dirty little secret.

"Nothing too extreme," he promises, but it's one of those bad promises. Super bad promises. It's a _lie_. Because the next thing he knows, there's a cock ring being placed over his cock, secured firmly around the base.

"Yeah, I can see that," he hisses, wincing at the tight fit of the cock ring on his junk. "Not extreme in the _slightest_."

Derek simply chuckles. "Don't worry, I'll take care of you."

Stiles is about ask what he _means _exactly, like, is he going to receive a hand job? Blow job? _Rim job_? Get fucked hard into the mattress, even? But the words die in his throat when Derek holds up a seven inch, thick headed dildo, one eyebrow arched as he smirks.

"_Oh_. Oh, uh, cool. Yeah. I… I can get down with that," he chokes. Derek's already rubbing a lube-slicked finger over his hole—where did the lube even _come from_, sometimes Derek's such a stealthy sneakwolf—and is teasing his pucker with small circles of a finger tip. He whines, rolling his ass back onto it, breathes a quiet groan when the finger slips in right up to the knuckle.

"Fuck, look at you take it. Gonna stretch you out, get you ready for it. 'S going to fill you right up, so thick. You're going to be writhing, begging me with those pretty pink lips to let you come. But no. Won't let you," Derek murmurs, curling his finger to hit _that spot_.

"_Ah_ yeah c'mon," he moans. "Do it. Do it now. Can take it, s'swear."

There's a growl, snarly and very un-tame, before a second finger presses in against the first. It burns a bit and he whimpers a little, canting his hips up as both fingers start a push and pull rhythm, stretching him out for what he knows is going to eventually be four fingers.

"Think you're ready for a third?" Derek asks. Stiles nods, squeaks in the most un-manliest way possible when another finger breaches his entrance, wriggling and twisting its way past the bunch of muscles trying to force it back out.

"Four, fourfour_four_," he pleads, breath stuttering.

"No. _Wait_," Derek snaps, kneading all three fingers over his prostate as a form of punishment.

"_Ah_ _ah ah_," he gasps, clamping his eyes shut, back arching. "O-Okay, okayokayokayokay. C-Control. You're in—in c-c-control."

The unrelenting pressure on his prostate settles, just a tiny drag of finger tips, before there's another pressing into him. Derek doesn't talk, but he can hear the way the werewolf is breathing, heavy inhales and rough exhales. It's just adding to the hotness of the moment, and his dick obviously notices that because it's way past half-mast or a semi, it's a full on hard-on and it's not getting any smaller any time soon.

He wants to tell Derek to hurry up, but knows that if he opens his mouth, that's stepping out of line. He really should have thought about the consequences that would be involved with asking Derek to be in control, should have considered and weighed the pros and cons. But it's too late now. He just hopes Derek gets a move on, because if the cock ring is designed for something, it's designed to stop him from coming. And he _really _wants to. Soon, sooner than he knows will happen.

"Okay, that's enough," Derek says, slipping his fingers out. Stiles blinks his eyes open, runs his tongue over his bottom lip, and watches Derek's face as he tries to contain his anxiousness. "You're ready."

"Fuck," he moans, fingers grappling uselessly at the bed sheets. Derek's hand is firmly flattened against his stomach, holding him down as he pushes the dildo into him slowly. So slow. By the time it's pressed in all the way, he's completely wrecked, sweat beading at his temples and breath shortened to weak, tiny pants.

"M-Move," he whines, hips twitching forward, but Derek's hand on his stomach just presses them back down into the mattress. "P-Please," he nearly sobs. The head of the dildo is niggling at his prostate, a pressure that's too much right now with the cock ring preventing release. It's too much and he _needs _Derek to move, to elevate the pressure, or he's going to lose his mind.

"What's the safe word, first?" Derek murmurs. Oh. Oh yeah. _That_. He always forgets about that.

"Captain," he sighs.

Derek chuckles softly. "Good. You know when to use it?"

Stiles nods, knows the drill. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Derek, _please_. Move."

Derek does move this time, easing the dildo back little by little before pressing it back in at the same pace, starting off the rhythm smooth and steady. It's an easy back and forth slide, not too hard and not too soft, but just right. It's the pull and stretch of the thick head of the dildo on his rim, the heavy feeling of being filled from the inside out, that has him shaking unconsciously.

It's never like this. They've always been into rough sex (with their first couple of times the exception). Hard and fast, every night, for as long as he can remember. Derek laying on his back, hands on Stiles' hips as he rides him with reckless abandon, keeping up with the werewolf's sharp, speedy thrusts. It's always been like that—like some kind of a marathon, no stopping, both of them just chasing down their orgasms in a rushed haze of deep and powerful rolls of their hips.

Tonight is a different approach. It's not hurried and Derek's in no rush, drawing out his actions with precision, almost careful with each measured thrust of the dildo. It's not how Stiles expected their BDSM to go like, thought Derek would relentlessly slam the dildo in and out of him, press and rub over his prostate until he was a sobbing, trembling mess. Instead, Derek's doing the exact opposite—deliberately avoiding his prostate, sliding the dildo inside him in firm, solid movements.

"I-Is, _ah_, this going to make me come?" He lifts his hips, wriggles and circles them and tries to get the dildo to brush over his prostate, but Derek must know his plan because he pulls it back, shoves it back in _hard_, sends Stiles' hips crashing back down onto the mattress when it jabs at his prostate with astonishing accuracy. "_F-F-Fuck_."

"It will… eventually," Derek taunts. It's the evil way in which he says it that makes Stiles whimper, curling his toenails down and digging them into the sheets at his feet as Derek starts his brandishing rhythm. It's not so slow now, moving in and out of him a bit more roughly.

"B-Better plan on it soon," he moans, rolling his neck and shoulders back. The strain is starting to become a little more prominent, a burning ache that zings through his muscles. "Because i-if I don't come soon, I-I just may need new arms and legs."

"Mm, well we definitely don't want that, do we?"

Stiles arches, cries out as Derek buries the dildo inside him to the hilt, drawing it back and repeating the process over and over, changing the pace and angle each time so every second or third onslaughts his prostate.

"D-D-Der," he chokes, body contorting and twisting under the constraint of the zip ties. His cock is so hard it's _painful_, and his balls feel so full. He wants to come, _fuck_, it's a primal need, but the cock ring is tight and too restricting.

"It's okay, shh, I got you," Derek coos, stroking his hand over Stiles stomach, fingers brushing and feeling their way down clenched, rippling abs. There's a ripe flush fanning out over his chest, spreading from his rosy cheeks all the way to his pink, puffy nipples.

Stiles mewls, sobbing quietly as Derek flexes his wrist when he thrusts the dildo inside him, dragging the head of it ever so slowly over his prostate. "P-Please, Derek, _ngh_, n-n-need to come," he whines, hips canting.

"God, _Stiles_," Derek groans, squeezing Stiles' cock, loosely fisting it as he drives the dildo into Stiles again and again. "Fuck, you must be so full. Balls all drawn up, _tight_. Bet they're tingling, huh? Are they tingling, Stiles? Are you _aching_ for it? For release?"

"Y-Yes, _yes yes_," Stiles whimpers.

"_Beg_," Derek growls, stripping his cock, squeezing his fist tightly around the head. "Beg me to come, and I just might let you."

"P-Please," Stiles sobs, hoarse and choked. "D-De-Derek, wanna c-come. M-Make me come. _P-P-Please_."

Derek moans softly, starts to pump Stiles' cock faster, and decides to let the writhing, gasping man in front of him have release. He quickly removes the cock ring, abandoning the dildo to work two hands on Stiles' cock, one sliding up and down the shaft while the other twists over the head, rolling it around in his palm, the slick sounds of pre-come squelching loudly.

"_Come_, Stiles," Derek snarls, eyes flashing vivid, icy blue. "_Now_. Let me hear you come."

"Oh, god, D-Derek, o-ohhh _god_."

Stiles throws his head back, mouth falling open in ecstasy, hips stuttering and whole body trembling.

Derek watches in awe as Stiles' toes curl, fingers spasming around the binds of the zip ties. He bites his lip, stiffing a small whimper as he comes untouched listening to Stiles let out a strangled squeak before whining a high and needy _ahhh ahh ahhhh_, feeling Stiles' come spurt and spill out over his fingers, wet and dripping.


End file.
